The next time I heard a roar to match what Nicklaus prompted on the back nine was when Woods improbably chipped in for birdie on No. 16 in 2005, his golf ball teetering on the edge of the cup just long enough to show the Nike swoosh, as if he were filming a commercial.

But my Masters co-favorite was actually 2004.

Sunday brought Phil Mickelson’s first win and his impersonation of my two-inch vertical leap when his birdie putt rolled in on No. 18.

Monday brought me to the course to play Augusta National myself with all the same pin placements as Sunday but with the course soaking wet from an overnight downpour and mercifully reduced to the member’s yardage.

That was 10 years ago. And, as you might’ve guessed, all the rounds I’ve played at Big Met have yet to trump it.

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